


I Will Wait

by ReallyCoolChief



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Death, Drama, History, M/M, Multiple Deaths, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Sad, Some Happy Endings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyCoolChief/pseuds/ReallyCoolChief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was blood still on his clothes; some of it belonged to him. But there was no pain, no open wounds. His body had somehow remained unharmed. Only the faint memory of sharp bullets entering his skin and his own dry blood covering his clothes served as proof that he was not supposed to be alive.<br/>And maybe he was not. Maybe this was what being dead felt like. Maybe he was a ghost; doomed to haunt the Café his friends used to occupy so many days and nights of their short, unjust lives."</p><p>After being shot at the barricades, Grantaire is not quite as dead as he is supposed to be. Seeing that he won't be able to bring Enjolras or any of his other friends back to life, he prepares for a miserable eternal life without them. Until, by chance, a couple of years later he meets someone who appears to be Enjolras' reincarnation.<br/>Throughout the years and course of history, Grantaire seeks out to find Enjolras over and over again until maybe one day he won't have to watch him die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paris, 1832

**Author's Note:**

> So, I suppose the "in another life" reincarnation AU is kind of overused by now, but I still wanted to contribute something.  
> Now two things I should mention beforehand: I am not a native English speaker, so this work will most likely contain some mistakes. I hope you will still enjoy reading it!  
> This work is also going to contain some historic events. I am in no way an expert in history and my research is also limited, so there will definitely be some mistakes. But this is also still a work of fiction, so I hope you can look past them!  
> I really do hope that I will stay motivated for this, because I have a lot of chapters planned out for this!

The bright white lights of Heaven were flickering behind his closed eyelids like a dying fire. He felt hot and cold at the same time; somehow stiff in his joints until a rush of electrifying energy jerked through his body, leaving a prickling feeling underneath his skin. His entire body felt numb for only a brief second; struck by an invisible lightning. Immediately after that, everything came crashing down on him all at once. He felt it. He felt _everything_ around him. The hard wooden ground underneath him, sharp pieces of a broken window edging into his skin, cold rain dripping from the window sill; wetting his clothes, the floor and the large red flag crumpled up around him. But there was another liquid, not quite dried up yet. It was covering his ripped clothes; sticky and moist. A faint warmth was still radiating from the lifeless body; so painfully close to his; arms and legs still accidentally intertwined from the fall they had taken after being shot less than an hour ago. Or so it was assumed, judging by the state of the body next to him. 

Not that Grantaire had dared to actually take a look. Not that he needed to. After all, he could feel it. After all, his fingers were still clutched around his leader’s hand, the way he had permitted it with his very last words.  
Of course, there was also the memory; so vivid and alive before his still closed eyes. A hollow pain shot through his chest in the exact same place the bullets had pierced through his skin and bones. He could still see it. Right here, right now; his mind forcing him to relive the entire moment; frame by frame; slowed down to the point where every second felt like an eternity; a slide show of blood and violence.

Enjolras; fearless and proud; his mind set on the cause and the bigger picture but never on the worthless value of his own life. They had been cornered by the soldiers; sweaty palms and faces everywhere. The salty fluid had been rinsing down dust, dirt and blood from their skins. Faceless soldiers had been clinging to their rifles; shaky and out of breath. It had been a silent stare down; a moment of pondering; a moment of hesitation and doubt because all of the young men that had died from their own hands today had never been older than themselves, roughly somewhere in their 20s. This one was not different. He was too young to die. Even for a supposedly good cause. 

Grantaire, however, had no recollection of any of those soldiers. They might as well had been wearing masks. There was only one thing he remembered his eyes seeing ever so clearly the moment he had staggered up the stairs. The setting sunlight breaking through the open window had illuminated Enjolras’ silhouette like a halo and Grantaire was convinced that it had been his pure and golden hair that had blinded him in that very moment. Enjolras had lifted his head, slowly and steady, upon Grantaire’s arrival. His body had frozen momentarily; still ignoring the soldiers and their weapons that should have long shot the two boys dead. But they had not. Not just yet. There had been something of remembrance in that moment that had prevented the soldiers from doing their duty; a solemn silence in the atmosphere that would last a life time.  
The two boys’ eyes had met; a gentle peaceful smile weakly lifting the corners of Enjolras’ beautifully curved lips as Grantaire had said the words.

_Do you permit it?_

Grantaire had felt entirely out of control as his body had staggered further towards his leader; mindlessly pushing the soldiers aside; until he had finally found himself right by Enjolras’ side. The way it should have always been.  
He had not thought twice as he had taken Enjolras’ hand; clasping it tightly. He had been completely and utterly terrified of what had been about to come but at the same time had felt an eternal peacefulness washing over his drunken mind and body as if he had been sobering up completely for the first time in his adult life.  
Then there had been pain.  
So much pain and blood.  
It would not stop.  
Until it did.

Now Grantaire was still here. The numbness had disappeared completely. There was blood still on his clothes; some of it belonged to him. But there was no pain, no open wounds. His body had somehow remained unharmed. Only the faint memory of sharp bullets entering his skin and his own dry blood covering his clothes served as proof that he was not supposed to be alive.  
And maybe he was not. Maybe this was what being dead felt like. Maybe he was a ghost; doomed to haunt the Café his friends used to occupy so many days and nights of their short, unjust lives.  
Then why was his body not here, but Enjolras’ was? 

Grantaire finally felt strong enough to sit up; untangling himself from Enjolras’ body but unable to let go of him entirely. There was no doubt that he was dead. For good. Grantaire could not bring himself to look into his leader’s dead eyes. He quickly shut them close with his fingers. Then he started weeping with Enjolras’ head gently resting on his lap; his soft locks of blonde hair spreading underneath like a crown. Grantaire could not help it anymore.  
He was crying for his friend and leader; for his death that had eventually been for nothing; for the injustice of life that he got to keep on living his own worthless life while Enjolras had been forced to end his; for the years to come that he would have to live aimlessly without his leader’s fierce lights to guide him; to make him see in the darkness of his own life.

Maybe he was still wrong. Maybe he was dead. Any maybe this was what hell felt like for a drunk demon like himself.


	2. Paris, 1854

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France is about to join the Crimean War. They are looking for young men to join the army.  
> (I swear, it's going to be less angsty and sad in the next chapters...well, maybe not in the next one, but soon after!)

It had been 22 years since Enjolras had been shot at the barricade. Soon after that Grantaire had found out that he and Marius had been the only survivors but whenever they had looked at each other they had also seen the faces of their dead friends and heard their screams as the soldiers had come to execute them. The memories would not fade; constantly triggered by the sole presence of the other. Therefore, Marius and Grantaire had decided to go separate ways. Marius had gone off to marry Cosette but for Grantaire the next months – years, even – had been nothing but a thick blur. 

He had continuously been washing all of his senses away with cheap wine to the point where he could not even remember his own name and yet, Enjolras had been the only thing he could not bring himself to forget. He had mindlessly thrust blades into his own heart, poisoned his own wine and fallen asleep sobbing and weeping in the darkest alleys of Paris in hopes that someone would come along and brutally murder him. But whatever he had tried to do, as soon as the sun would rise the next morning, Grantaire would rise again too. Every morning he would look at his own reflection and find the exact same face staring back at him. 22 years and he had not changed a bit. 

_Won’t you look at that, Enjolras.  
Didn’t you preach me the dangers of alcohol?  
Didn’t you lecture me on how I was doomed to die of young age?  
Look at me now.  
And look at you._

Grantaire felt his body shaking. 22 years and he still was not ready for this. By the looks of it, he would have an eternity left to one day get used to it but he somehow felt that even this would never be enough time.   
He got up while simultaneously grabbing the bottle of wine from the table, took two gulps and eventually a third one for good measure. Then he headed for the door. He needed to get out. Maybe not actually forget everything for a while but at least pretend that he could. 

France was sill in the middle of changing. For the better, as Grantaire liked to believe but he still found himself wondering whether Enjolras would have agreed. The failed revolution at the barricades, however, had had no influence on those changes, although Grantaire wished that it had been different. Enjolras deserved to have made an impact on his motherland but the only one who could even still remember him was Grantaire himself.

Grantaire usually avoided getting involved into politics these days. There was too much at cost; too much to lose and Grantaire had never actually believed in making an impact on society anyway. Still, even a cynic like him could feel the growing tension lying over the city like a thick see-through blanket. He had felt something like this before. 22 years ago; when the barricades had risen. Something big was about to happen and Grantaire would have to make sure to stay as far away from it as possible this time.

Out here, people were talking about war and the giant enemy, Russia, against Great Britain and its allies, one of them being France. Willing young men were needed to join the army and proudly fight for their mother country. More than once Grantaire had thought about joining, simply to spite Enjolras and his firm beliefs and maybe also for the chance to die in battle…over and over again.

The warm spring weather had driven a considerable amount of people out of their own homes and into the streets. Grantaire did not have a particular destination and he felt himself drifting along with small groups of people filling the streets. He kept overhearing conversations about the coming war but decided not to engage in them any further. Nobody would have wanted to hear his opinion anyway. Some things did not change.

The flow of the group in front of him suddenly slowed down rapidly. Before Grantaire could make out what exactly was happening here, a young man was shoving a flyer into his hand, mumbling something about joining the army, but he never even gave him a second look afterwards.   
It was only now that Grantaire noticed the large group of people standing in a half circle right at the corner of the street. They all appeared to be looking at something that was – as Grantaire had cleverly deducted – lying at the centre of the circle. Usually, Grantaire did not give two shits about recent sensational gossip. In fact, these days he did not give a lot of shits about most things. Still, something was drawing him closer to the circle. Something other than the people he had naturally been following since he had left his home. Close enough to feel the sudden urge to push the crowd out of his way in order to get into first row and witness with his own eyes and ears what all this fuss was about. With that, he found himself walking right into destiny’s trap.

“Young men of Paris, the sons of our nation! This is not a question of personal choice…it is a decision that ought to come to you as natural as breathing. It is not a matter of France alone, but something greater entirely. We have worldly matters at our hands and it is your duty, as citizens of France and as citizens of this world to engage into these worldly matters. If I propose to you that from this very moment on, I could hand you the opportunity to save our country and our beloved people; to change the course of history, how could you refuse?”

Mesmerized, Grantaire had been listening to the young man speak. He had been glued to his lips from the moment they had parted for the first time; fascinated by the fierce passion illuminating his eyes. Never before had he seen someone this enraged by his own words and beliefs. Never before had he felt the urge to follow someone as much as he wanted to follow this young stranger. Of course, this was not quite true. Of course, there had been someone before, as much as Grantaire had been eager to try and forget.

He lifted his gaze, slowly and steady, for the first time actually looking straight at the young man with the voice of an angel and his looks just so happened to match his voice perfectly. He must have been a little over twenty of age, though it was hard to tell, his soft and delicate features making him seem sort of ageless. Everything about him was sculptured by the Heavens. Slim, but strong shoulders, beautifully curved lips, sharp cheekbones and a pair of eyes as blue as the summer sky. He was one of the single most gorgeous works of art Grantaire had ever seen in his life. Sure, he did not look exactly like Enjolras but close enough to cause a deep, hollow pain in his chest.

He could not help it anymore. Maybe all those years had long driven him completely mad. Mad enough to see and hear things that were made up entirely from his imagination; a product of alcohol and despair. He smirked bitterly and raised a hand in order to say something.   
The golden haired man must have noticed – Grantaire knew that – but kindly chose to ignore the drunken man that had evidently come here to ruin his speech. Needless to say, this did not actually stop Grantaire from speaking up anyway. There was something incredibly tempting about causing this particular flicker of irritation on that marble face; being the reason for those pursed lips; that triangular frown between his brows; catching his attention for even the glimpse of a second. 

“And die. Perhaps you should mention that they are very likely to die” He gave the boy a triumphant smirk, even though this was hardly a laughing matter.   
The boy, however, nodded slowly. He did not object. “Very well…this man…” A glimmer of disgust shot across his face. “He speaks the truth. However, you ought not to forget what you are giving your lives for” 

_For nothing_ , Grantaire knew but did not get the chance to say because everyone around him suddenly started chanting battle cries and short hymns to their beloved France. They were prepared for anything destiny could have in store for them. As tempting as it was to linger around for a chance to get another glimpse or two at the blonde man, he knew that he could not bear to watch all those young men willingly throwing their lives away. Looking around, he could not help but picture them deformed and lifeless, blood splattered across their faces. Dead like all of his friends.  
So he turned to cowardly leave instead. Leave all of this behind. For real this time. He had no business here just because this angelic lunatic had reminded him of someone who was long gone…and would remain so.

“You!” Someone was shouting from behind. Of course, this could have been meant for just about anyone and Grantaire just kept walking. But someone suddenly grabbed his wrist; the touch hard and forceful. Grantaire spun around on his heels and froze as he found himself directly facing the blonde boy that seemed to be equally confused at his own outburst of emotion. As soon as he became aware of the fact that his fingers were still clutched tightly around Grantaire’s wrist, he jolted a few steps back, as if the touch had suddenly burned his flesh raw. But soon enough his bright blue eyes were fixed on the black haired man in fierce determination, hidden just behind a dash of disgust, probably from the stench of hard liquor that must have been reeking from Grantaire’s clothes.

“I know your kind. And I do not understand what you would be doing here, listening to our speeches” A little pause in which he pursed his lips, immediately appearing at least 5 years younger. “And I do not appreciate it”  
Grantaire met his gaze, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “My kind?” He repeated, grinning. “And what exactly would ‘my kind’ be?”

The blonde boy’s face hardened, his shoulders straightened. He was a little taller than Grantaire and now he appeared to be looking down on him. “Pessimists, cynics, a useless brain full of selfish negativity, non-believers, lonely and empty souls trying to find salvation in alcohol and sins”  
He did not need to go on. Grantaire got the picture. He got it ever so clearly. As he closed his eyes slowly, the blonde boy’s voice faded into silence. Words like these. He had heard them before. But never before had they stung in his chest with such bittersweet intention as they did this very moment.

Grantaire lifted a finger. “Miraculously accurate” He smiled, weakly and with longing sadness hidden behind. “But you are wrong about a couple of things” He paused, enjoying the blonde’s puzzled, yet quite endearing expression. “I am here because I want to fight” A moment of silence passed between the two of them. Grantaire’s eyes were intense and pleading, meeting the blonde’s cold, hard gaze.  
“No” He finally said and there was no doubt that this was going to be his first and final answer.   
Grantaire threw his hands up in exasperation. “Why not? I recall you saying that you could make use of any man. So why not me? I am as good as the next man. I can fall and bleed on the battlefield just as well” He just could not keep the sarcasm to himself, it seemed. 

“This is precisely why your kind is not welcome in our ranks. Clean yourself up, sober up and perhaps you will have a chance”   
Grantaire lowered his gaze, defeated. He had heard these exact words before. But he did not know how destiny could be cruel enough to do this to him. As he lifted his head, the blonde boy was already about to leave and in great fear he might never see him again, Grantaire raised his voice one last time.

“Before you leave…may I ask you something?”   
The blonde boy’s attention was caught. He nodded slowly. “Go ahead”  
“If you do not mind…what is your name?”  
The blonde seemed to be surprised but not entirely repulsed to give an answer. “I do not know why this should matter to you, but very well. My name is Enjolras”   
Grantaire had been hoping to hear exactly this. The final proof for his insanity snapping for good. Yet, he had not been ready to actually hear it said out loud…drawn from the exact same red lips he had been dreaming of for all those years. He closed his eyes, tempted to ask to hear him say it one more time…over and over again.

“Pardon me?”  
Enjolras’ forehead crinkled in irritation. “Enjolras” He repeated, less sympathetic this time.  
For once, Grantaire’s smile was not mocking or bitter. It was honest and soft, full of gentle relief. “Pardon my curiosity. I do not mean to be intrusive…but there is one last thing I need to know. How old are you?”  
Enjolras puffed out his chest, a desperate attempt to appear older but his answer was honest and clear. “I am 22”  
Again, Grantaire nodded. “Thank you” 

Enjolras was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving Grantaire standing there; finding his only support by leaning against a wall; his eyes closed; secretly waiting to wake up from this absurd dream.   
He might have been standing there for hours. As he dared to move again, his joints were stiff and numb. He eventually slowly made his way home. This called for a drink. But once he got home, he found himself unable to drink, eat or even fall asleep. 

The next day, all the soldiers had been sent off to war. Enjolras was gone with them. Grantaire patiently waited for their return while every day he was begging to join the military and be the next one to be sent into battle.   
Few soldiers ever came back home.   
Enjolras was not one of them.


	3. London, 1878, Pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through some weird urge, Enjolras finds himself on a ship for a day trip in London. He expects to find some peace and quiet, but finds out soon enough that he won't be having the cabin for himself.

_Moonlight Trip_ , they had advertised it as. A name that was supposed to be the promise of a magical and once-in-a-lifetime experience. Enjolras, however, remained sceptical about the offer. It had been incredibly cheap, yes, but as far as he was concerned, there was not much to the so called _Moonlight Trip_. It was going to be a simple day long trip to some British town on this large boat with a name prettier and more graceful than its overall appearance. Still, the generous offer of only two shilling per passenger had lured many people out of their comfortable homes and out onto the ship. Enjolras could complain as much as he wanted – in the end he, too, was one of those passengers.

He had found himself with some free time to spend during his travels through Europe and this particular offer had just so happened to cross his path at the right moment. He had, however, brought his paperwork along for the trip. Just in case. Maybe this would at least give him a break from the grey and thick smog looming over the London area.  
From what he had seen of London so far, it was a relatively sunny today. Bits and pieces of the blue sky were actually visible every now and then and white rays of sunshine were breaking through occasional cracks in the clouds. Yet, Enjolras had more or less chosen to spend the morning in his cabin below the deck. Maybe he would get a chance to visit the deck later, though. 

Upon entering the ship there had been large crowds impatiently pushing forward, each passenger wanting to be the first one to enter. Yet, Enjolras had somehow managed to end up in a cabin all by himself. Here he was waiting for the ship to put out for the journey. Already now he could feel the boat swaying gently between the light waves clashing against its sides and he had to close his eyes, trying to ignore the sick pressure this movement was putting on his stomach.

He did not hear the curtains, separating his cabin from the aisle outside, being lifted until a slightly trembling voice with the faintest French accent suddenly spoke up. “Excuse me? I don’t want to interrupt but I think those are my seats” Enjolras opened his eyes to reveal a young man pointing at the two seats opposite to him. He must have been roughly the same age as Enjolras, wearing a dark mud coloured three piece suit with a green waist coat and tie and a cream coloured shirt. There was no hat covering the mess of brown curls that would not quite fit in with the rest of his otherwise quite polished appearance. 

The man would not move until Enjolras gave him permission to by nodding slowly. “You are late” He commented while the young man was politely preparing to take his seats.  
“Oh, but I think I am right on time” He flashed Enjolras a knowing grin, a situation so oddly familiar that he had to frown away the strange déjà-vu that had overcome him upon watching the brown haired man.   
Having heard his French accent before and not being all too fluent in English himself, Enjolras continued to speak in his own mother tongue.   
“What has brought a Frenchman like you to London?”

The brown haired man laughed gently. There was something about his incredibly light hearted happiness that was filling Enjolras with a strange feeling of content.   
“I see we are skipping the names now entirely? I did not know”  
A faint, rosy blush spread across his cheeks because it was not like him to be impolite at all. But for some reason the stranger had seemed familiar enough to make a proper introduction seem unnecessary.   
Again, Enjolras nodded, now sitting up a little straighter in his seat – if that was even possible.

“Pardon my rudeness” He apologized with sombre sincerity. “The name is Enjolras. I have nod heard a familiar voice for quite some time. It came…” He seemed to be looking for the right words. He was rarely ever at a loss for words. It must have been the sick feeling in his stomach and the cramped heat down here causing these forms of irritation. “…unexpected”

The brown haired man laughed again. “Grantaire” He answered the question that Enjolras had never actually asked. “A familiar voice, indeed” He added, his blue eyed stare suddenly intense and meaningful before he suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing and shyly turned away his gaze. “I have been travelling around the continent for a good while and decided to settle right here in London”  
Enjolras responded with a disapproving and almost disgusted expression.  
“The world is constantly at a change and eventually there is no other way than to change with it” Grantaire explained himself, receiving another disapproving grunt from Enjolras.

“Oh, I happen to love change. It is one of the most important forces that make this life valuable and worthwhile. But England? Not so much” About half a smile was tugging at the corners of Enjolras’ mouth, much to his own surprise. He could not remember the last time he had been smiling with this much heartfelt honesty.  
Grantaire laughed, looking like he was about to say something but then changed his mind in order to say something else just before his lips had parted. “It sure is a pleasure to meet you”  
“Likewise” Enjolras admitted. “It seems as though we are going to have enough time to talk”  
“I would appreciate a good talk, if I am being honest. It has been quite a while”

Enjolras smiled, a little wider this time. “That is to be expected when one chooses to settle in a place like London. Well, all of England, really”  
As Grantaire’s last laughter had faded out, silence fell over the small cabin. Each of the young men seemed to take the time for their own thoughts but neither of them was actually expressing any of their wildly rambling feelings. Enjolras, for his part, had successfully suppressed the sickening feeling pressing hard onto his sensitive stomach ever since the ship had started its journey. Now that the lack of conversation between the two of them was making room for the constant sound of waves clashing against the sides of the ship while it was swaying to that same rhythm. However, as Enjolras took a look outside the small window, the ship seemed to be floating steadily on the blue water and the two mismatching senses of what he saw and what he felt were making him feel uneasy and sick. 

He leaned his head back, golden curls falling softly around his neck, and closed his eyes, but that only seemed to make it worse. His hand lay on his stomach that felt like it was ready to get rid of his early breakfast any minute now.  
“If I may say, you do not look too well, my friend” Grantaire’s voice was covered in amusement but there was also a clear hint of genuine worry hidden underneath.   
Enjolras was not in the mood to even correct him about how he was not anyone’s _friend_ and about how he certainly was not _Grantaire’s_ friend. But instead he lifted a hand lightly. “I appreciate your concern but I am feeling fine” He covered his mouth with that same hand as a sour taste crept up from deep down his stomach. “I just need time to adjust”

Grantaire nodded but clearly was not convinced. “Of course, pardon me, I did not mean to be intrusive. It appears to me that you might be sea sick, though. Is this your first time travelling on a ship?”  
“Sea sick? This is ridiculous. You must be mistaken” Enjolras huffed loudly. If he had taken a look into the mirror and could have seen the colour having drained almost entirely from his lips and cheeks he probably would have given the thought a second chance. In other words, he was looking terrible and very sickly. Much to Grantaire’s further concern.

The brown haired man slipped a hand into his inside pocket, fumbling around for a moment, then he drew out a small, flat silver bottle. He screwed it open, sniffing the liquid inside with a sigh of satisfaction, took a very quick sip and finally offered it to Enjolras.  
“Try this” He suggested smirking.  
Enjolras eyed him with suspicion but another wave of stomach cramps quickly put him back into his place. A painful reminder that he was in no position to question anything that might help him feel better. 

So he leaned forward to take the bottle, unaware of how closely Grantaire was watching his every move. The immediate, distinctive smell of alcohol hit the insides of his nose, causing him to make a face of disgust. He crinkled his nose, glowering at Grantaire. “You must be joking. This is fairly hard liquor. You do not expect me to drink this, do you?”   
Grantaire waved a hand lightly. “Oh, but I do” He lifted both eyebrows.  
“This is hardly going to make me feel better”

Grantaire shrugged, a challenging smile on his face. “You would be surprised how much it can do for you. If taken in the right amounts, it can heal almost anything”  
“Temporarily” Again, Enjolras believed to be able to see a bitterness darkening Grantaire’s expression.  
“Sometimes this is as good as it gets”  
“One sip” Enjolras suddenly announced, much to Grantaire’s surprise. “That is all I will take”  
And so he did. Hesitant, still. As soon as the liquid had flooded his tongue, he could almost feel his taste buds shrivelling up one after another. Surprised by the awfully disgusting taste, even worse than he could have ever imagined, he swallowed it fast and hard, almost choking on the sharp burning effect it had on the insides of his mouth. He was still coughing as he politely handed the bottle back to Grantaire who was smiling goofily.

Enjolras suddenly decided that it was time to get up now. He did so a little too fast and the world took a blurry spin around him.  
“I think I should excuse myself for a moment” He said with a voice more confident than the rest of his wobbly appearance. He cleared his throat, straightening his bright red coat with his flat hands. “I am in need for some fresh air”  
Grantaire immediately rose along with him, as if he feared that the blonde man could faint any second from now. “May I accompany you?”

Enjolras shook his head briefly. “This will not be necessary. I am capable of taking care of myself, thank you” The obvious distance and sudden harshness in his voice did not seem to affect Grantaire in the slightest. He was still standing there, arms a little open, ready to catch him if he chose to lose grip or consciousness. The sick man kept ignoring Grantaire’s useless efforts, believing that he was probably drunk himself and therefore incapable of being of any use.   
Obviously, Enjolras had underestimated the failure of his own sense of balance. Soon enough a gentle jerk shook the entire ship and nearly swept him off his feet, had it not been for Grantaire who immediately placed a hand on his back to stabilize the boy with the golden locks.  
“I did not know one drop of liquor would affect you that much” He was laughing quietly to himself.

With the sudden closeness between them Enjolras could smell spilled whiskey and wine on Grantaire’s clothes. His supposedly polished appearance suddenly seemed to merely be a façade. He made a face of disgust. “I tend to stay away from it entirely”  
Without further quarrel the two young men left their cabin, Grantaire’s hand a constant and steady crutch around Enjolras’ waist. The taller man had long passed the point of attempting to complain. 

They were not the only passengers that had decided to go for a walk, curiously exploring the ship, many of them using this form of travel for the first time. They met men and women, many of them in love, their arms linked, and even some children running around, almost knocking Enjolras and Grantaire off their feet.  
The aisles between the cabins were narrow, resembling a labyrinth and it was a miracle that Grantaire did not get lost, leading Enjolras out onto the deck. The air up here was salty and wet. The wind was cold and rough, occasionally throwing drops of water into the faces of the few passengers that had dared to come up here.  
Enjolras felt the waves of fresh air immediately clearing his head. He took a deep breath, filling up his lounges until they were about to burst. It carried a taste of fish and algae with it and Enjolras felt even sicker than before. He ran up to the railing and emptied his stomach. It had all happened too fast for Grantaire to stop him. Once he was found back by the blonde’s side, Enjolras already turned around again, wiping his mouth with his sleeve in the process. He was still coughing lightly, blushing furiously from embarrassment of having shown this much weakness. “I apologize”

Grantaire did not response for he knew that if he opened his mouth now, nothing but laughter would come out of it. This did not seem appropriate for once.  
“Give me that bottle again” Enjolras suddenly commanded, reaching out his open palm. It was only after a few seconds that Grantaire had fully comprehended what Enjolras had been asking of him and immediately handed the bottle of liquor over to the blonde man. In awe he watched him emptying it in one single sip, wiping his mouth again afterwards and exhaling sharply before carelessly giving the bottle back.  
“Might as well” He explained. “We are going to be stuck here for a while after all”

Enjolras’ hands were gripping the railing tightly while he was staring out onto the passing houses and towns. They had already left London far behind.  
“I take it, this really is your first time travelling by means of a ship” Grantaire suddenly took up on the question that Enjolras had never given an answer to. He was standing close to the blonde man, their shoulders almost brushing. Yet, Enjolras seemed to be entirely oblivious to their closeness as well as to the way Grantaire was staring at him whenever he was not looking.

“Is it not obvious?”  
“It just amuses me. You do not seem to me someone who would care all that much for a sight seeing tour of a town within a country you are not even fond of.”  
“I do not” Enjolras admitted. He seemed to be pondering about giving a proper explanation and came to realize that there really was none. “If you insist to know…there was something very peculiar about the advertisement that caught my interest immediately. And to this day – especially in this very moment” He put a hand on his stomach for emphasis. “I found myself unable to explain what exactly happened”  
Grantaire smiled absentmindedly. “Almost as if someone wanted you to be here”  
A moment of silence passed. Enjolras shook his head with a frown. “No, that was not it”  
“Do you believe in these kinds of things at all?”

Enjolras was still oblivious to what Grantaire was referring to; the concept of the supernatural too abstract and absurd for a practical mind like his. “Advertisements? Stealing money from the people with cheap promises?”  
Grantaire held back a chuckle, wondering about how even if Enjolras would ever stop looking like the marble statue he used to know and even if his name would change with the ages, he would still always be able to find and recognize the young man simply by his strong mindset and stubborn passion. “Not quite…I am talking about destiny. Being in the right place at the right time”

Again, Enjolras was frowning. Or maybe he had been frowning for as long as they had been having this conversation. Grantaire could not tell. The crinkles on the blonde’s forehead were as much part of him as the summer sky eyes and the angelic curls. He shook his head briefly, but with enough intensity to make his point clear. “What a ridiculous thing to believe in. Only a fool would blindly accept anything the world is throwing at them. A feather in the wind might believe that it is gently being led and guarded by the wind, but in the end it will fall to the ground just as every other object succumbing to the laws of nature”  
“What a soft hit this would be, though”   
“A hit is a hit and it will kill you nonetheless. You do not need to be carried by the wind. You need to carry yourself – we need to carry each other. We do not wait for things to happen. We make them happen”

“Yet, here you are, among a bunch of – what you would call – fools. People who paid money to see beauty. People who will not regret their choice, because what is life worth if it was not for the arts?”  
“Life, per se, is worth nothing if you spend your days wasted on such banalities”  
Suddenly Grantaire straightened up, turning halfway towards Enjolras. He made a mocking face at him. “What exactly are your big plans then? I understand, there has got to be something. Are we going to overthrow the government? Will we attack the captain, lock him into his cabin and take over the ship? Pray, tell me, because I would not want to miss it for the world” 

The scowling face Enjolras gave him did not need any words or explanation. Grantaire’s shoulders sank at once. He had spent all those decades searching and waiting, going through each conversation and interaction they ever had, however short it had been, demonizing himself for his incapability to keep quiet. For the permanent malfunction the bitter poison from the bottle had left in the way his mouth worked. He had spent whole nights making promises to himself that he would strive to be better, only to then realize that it was too late. He had lost every chance to redeem himself in front of the only God he had ever believed in. And he was doomed to miss it every time it came around again, for all eternity of time. Born to be a disappointment. Born useless.  
“Has anyone ever told you to shush your mouth?”  
Grantaire smiled, bitter and broken. “On occasions, someone has told me exactly this”


	4. London, 1878, pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire and Enjolras arrive at the destination of the Moonlight Trip, but neither of them is particularly interested in visiting the beautiful gardens of the town.  
> (I changed a few things about the last chapter, because I realized that I had gotten something about the trip wrong. Also, I apologize for the lack of plot in this chapter. I swear, it's going to be different in the next chapter!)

Enjolras had still been looking pale and rather sickly as he had excused himself back into their shared cabin. Grantaire had remained on deck for now, still leaning against the railing and watching the towns and houses alongside the Thames pass him by. Families and couples were out and about, going for walks, their eyes widening in happy delight upon seeing the giant ship up close. They were lifting their hands to wave in excitement. Sometimes, Grantaire would smile back in a crooked but somewhat charming way and lift his arm in order to give a little wave back too. But his thoughts did not ponder over amused men and women or excited children. After all those years they finally belonged to Enjolras again.

Sometimes it had felt as if he had lost track of time completely. And other times he had been stuck counting days and minutes. Many drunken nights were erased entirely from his memory. Many months spent in bed with no intention of leaving his house ever again had gone by in the blink of an eye and had felt like merely a couple of hours.

But this moment was clear, almost sober. And, indeed, it had been Enjolras who had emptied most of the alcohol from his portable bottle and not himself. Now he felt clear in a way he had not felt in a very long time. A new found flush of warm blood glowing in his cheeks, a heavenly spark twinkling in his eyes, a rush of pure energy breaking through the fogginess in his head, like rays of sunshine through a cloudy sky. The air had never been cleaner, the sun had never been brighter. The world could be conquered and Grantaire would be alive to see it.

It was then that he felt the ship gently slowing down underneath his feet. People were already getting up and leaving their cabins in order to be the first one to set their feet into the new town. By now Grantaire had long forgotten the name of the town they were about to visit. As far as he was concerned there was not much to see here anyway. Most people would be heading for the beautiful gardens this place was apparently famous for. Others might enjoy a day in town. Grantaire, for his part, would take care of this empty feeling in his stomach first. 

As he spun around, facing the deck, there must have already been about a hundred people out. The constant mumbling of the crowd was irritating his ears as his eyes were automatically searching for that head of blonde hair. His shoulders sank as Enjolras was nowhere to be found. Seeing that there was no use in trying to find the blonde and knowing that they would surely meet again when the ship would put out back to London, Grantaire eventually joined the crowd, reluctantly.  
He watched the people spread out to explore different corners of the town, even though most of them were heading into the same direction. Still no red coat or blonde hair, but Grantaire still chose the road less travelled on as he followed absolutely no one into the town. Even after all those years, the feeling was still odd. Not following anyone. Deciding where to go and what to do and making his actions worthwhile while doing so. Because that was the hard part. What was there left to live for if you could not die? You could fall into an endless spiral of self hatred and existential crisis for centuries and no one would even notice. Not even yourself. Pessimism had never gotten him very far. That was true. But optimism had killed all of his friends. And it would have killed him. It should have killed him.

By pure instinct he slid a hand into his inside pocket and found nothing but the empty bottle. Of course. A single improper cuss word slipped from his lips – not that he had cared – as he remembered. Luckily, as he was strolling through the town, he also happened to pass by a small and cosy looking liquor store with a warm wooden façade framing the dusty store windows. He stopped immediately, just to have a quick look inside, but stopped again as he was facing his own reflection. Sometimes he hardly recognized himself. Especially on days like these. He had put on his best and only decent clothes this morning. He had not bothered to shave thoroughly, though and even after over 60 years he still had not find a proper way to tame his curls. Ugly stains on his shirt and vest could only be spotted if you looked really closely and even though he had never liked what he saw, he actually looked presentable today. He did not look like someone who would enter this liquor store at this hour of the day. But he did look like someone who would not be late to meet his old friend for lunch in town. And even if there was no old friend, he was still going to be on time. 

 

 _You do not seem to me someone who would care all that much for a sight seeing tour of a town within a country you are not even fond of._ It did not bother him so much that Grantaire had been right with his assumption. What bothered him was the fact that he could not get his words or voice out of his head. And it had made him think. It had made him wonder about why he was here now. Why he got onto that ship in the first place. And that frustrated him, because he did not know the answer. He certainly had not come here to sit inside this restaurant and have his first English breakfast. Admittedly, it was not too bad. He had expected worse from the English kitchen. As opposed to the French dishes he was used to. 

At least he had found one of the lesser occupied places. The weather was mild enough to sit outside and yet only few people had decided to do so. In fact, there was only an elderly man with a monocle and a large moustache reading the newspaper while having a cup of tea and a young married couple making googly eyes at each other while enjoying a shared cake. 

Enjolras had come with his books and notes and was currently studying them. Might as well get some work done. This day was already wasted. He did not have to make things worse.   
Because why would he bother making things worse if there were other people so much more suitable for the job. A realization that would hit him soon enough as the chair opposite to him was moved back. Enjolras did not even have to look up. He just knew. And as the man sat down and his green waistcoat came into sight, Enjolras snarled. “I remember you being more polite a few hours ago” 

Grantaire flashed a grin and shrugged. “My mistake” He took a curious glance at Enjolras’ almost empty plate and waved for the waiter to come. “I will have what he had” He ordered quickly and pointed at Enjolras, then proceeded to rub his stomach as the waiter went back to the kitchen to get the order done. “Was it any good?”  
Enjolras’ forehead crinkled in irritation, causing Grantaire to automatically repeat the question. “The food. Was it any good?”  
“If you do not put your expectations up too high, it is bearable” Enjolras replied, finishing off the last bite of his sausage. “You have placed your order already anyway. Perhaps it is a bit late to ask that question now”

Again, Grantaire shrugged. “I like to live my life a little risky” He gave a wink but Enjolras politely ignored the gesture.   
“You were talking an awful lot about the beauty of nature for someone who is now going to sit down and eat breakfast instead of exploring the gardens”   
“I changed my mind. The beauty of other humans intrigues me more than nature” Grantaire’s gaze fell on the man in front of him for a little too long. Just long enough for Enjolras to notice and frown upon it. He did not think much of it, though. The black haired man’s words did not make any sense to him, regardless. “You could say that I came here to study people. What are you studying that you could not have studied back at home? In France, even, perhaps?” 

Enjolras put a hand flat on top of his notes. “Actually, I came here to do the same. I just happen to focus more on the minds of said people than their appearance” He threw a scolding glance at Grantaire for no apparent reason at all.   
“Oh, but I think that the mind can be very crucial to a person’s beauty. However, do elaborate on that. You have awoken my curiosity”  
Enjolras did not think twice when being asked about his current occupation and Grantaire immediately recognized the proud glow that radiated from his eyes and his cheeks. “I am a student of politics” Somehow, Grantaire did not seem to be surprised by that revelation. “For my studies I am travelling around the globe in order to explore different political systems and its impacts on the economy and society” 

Enjolras was clearly not finished yet and Grantaire did not have a single doubt that he would be able to go on about this for hours, but he interrupted him nonetheless. Old habits died hard. “If I may have a guess. I suppose you are not too fond about the English Monarchy. Am I correct?”  
“It is only a matter of time until even the English will come to their senses and follow France’s example. All monarchies are doomed to failure once the people realize that it is not in their nature to be dominated and controlled by a government of wealthy people who know nothing about politics”  
“What you are suggesting here is that you want the English to fight a revolution?” 

Enjolras face hardened, his lips were pressed together tightly as he nodded slowly. “If this is what it takes”  
“Enjolras, thousands of people died in France…and it was all for nothing”   
Somehow the way Grantaire was using his name so naturally, threw Enjolras off for a mere second. The irritation was replaced by anger soon enough. “People are dying right now. People have been dying before. This is nothing to debate about. France has become a better place for its citizens, without a doubt”   
“Well, perhaps it is just in people’s nature to die” Grantaire cut in, an expression of amused provocation on his face. 

“This is different. The people who have died fighting, have died for a higher cause. They have willingly given their lives in order to improve the future.”   
“And now they are not even alive to see it” Grantaire snapped. His voice was filled with emotion. Of course Enjolras acted as if he did not know what he was talking about. He was used to this kind of treatment and he usually let it pass. Because Enjolras was right about half of the time. But not this time. Not anymore.   
“Perhaps not everyone is as selfish as your kind. Do you know what is happening in Ireland right now? Those are innocent people dying by the hands of the English Monarchy. This has got to stop. If the English citizens are not going to revolt, the Irish will. As it is their human right to stand up against those who have wronged them every day for such a long time. If this is how the English Monarchy is treating their colonies and neighbours and no one is going to stop them, then how will it end?”

“And you are going to be the one stopping them?” Grantaire asked in a clearly mocking tone.   
“It is not my fight alone. But I will be a part of it”  
Grantaire suddenly leaned back and smiled. There was no timeline, no part on this Earth he could travel to where Enjolras would not be as fierce and convinced about his own values and sense of righteousness as he had always been. “You, sir, have a beautiful mind” The words just slipped his still smiling lips and took Enjolras aback. “It matches the appearance” 

There was no time for the blonde man to react because in this very moment the waiter finally arrived to bring Grantaire his food. It smelled delicious and was still steaming hot. Once again Grantaire could physically feel that he had not eaten anything proper in a very long time. Being immortal naturally also involved being unable to die from a lack of food. It was an easy way to save a lot of money, but the empty feeling in his stomach always remained.   
Grantaire thanked him quietly and dug into his plate immediately while Enjolras was still flabbergasted by the unexpected compliment. He decided that the best way to get back on track was to just change the topic. Not that he would not have been willing to continue this political discussion until the sun went down. There was just no convincing a man like Grantaire. And as annoying of a trait this might have been, Enjolras found it to be intriguing at the same time. How boring would a discussion be if your discussion partner agreed to everything that you were saying?

“What is your reason to travel?”  
“I believe I have told you before…I am studying people. Not unlike you, but perhaps on a different level. Frankly, I am an artist”   
Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “An artist? Is that affordable?”  
“Sometimes it is. Other times it is not. This is why I travel. There is the aspect of finding inspiration, of course. But I am also constantly looking for people who enjoy what I am doing. Either way…may I ask, what is your next destination?”

Enjolras did not hesitate to answer. “Ireland. I want to see the suffering of the people for myself and talk to them”  
“What a coincidence. I happen to travel to Ireland too. It is the landscape that has caught my interest. I would like to paint it. You see, travelling for my kind is a lot easier to afford if it is not done alone. What do you say? Perhaps you would want to travel with me?”   
Never before had Grantaire been this sober while talking to Enjolras. Never before had he been this open and direct. Never before had he gotten a sense of fondness from the blonde man. He did not seem to hate him all that much. This version of him seemed calmer, a bit more serene. Grantaire quite liked that. He did not prefer it to the other versions he had come to know. But he could definitely get used to it. Yet, he was glad that Enjolras was not able to see his hands and knees shaking as much as they did while he was waiting for the blonde man to ponder about an answer.

“Why not?” He said, at last. “It certainly beats being seated next to some Monarchists while riding the train”  
Grantaire wiped the sweat off his hands and swallowed hard before he offered his hand to Enjolras. “Thank you for accepting my offer. You will not regret this”  
“Do not make me”


	5. London, 1878, pt. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. (I also don't really like how this came out, but this is another story)

It had stricken Grantaire as unusual that Enjolras had fallen asleep so fast once the day trip in town had ended and they had returned back to their cabin. But then again, he had never been a big enough part of Enjolras’ private life to actually be the judge of the nature of his sleeping pattern. At least he was not snoring. Instead, Enjolras sleeping was the most beautiful and peaceful thing he had ever seen. Enjolras had sunken down a bit deeper into the seat; his shoulders were slumped down from the weight; his head was leaning against the wall behind him, but tilted slightly to the side. His cheeks were a little rosy and his red lips were parted ever so slightly. Grantaire could hear his steady and long breaths that were soothing him until he almost felt like falling asleep as well. But he could not bring himself to actually close his eyes. He was keen to take in as much of this moment as possible. For he did not know how long it would last this time. And if he would ever get the chance to come this close to Enjolras again in the years to come. 

He had taken out his sketchbook that was now resting on his lap. His hands and cheeks were dirty from coal, but he was too caught up in his sketches of the blonde man to care or even notice. He was an artist, alright. Sometimes his drawings were decent enough to sell them. Here and there he would get enough money in exchange to live for the next couple of weeks. He drew landscapes and portraits. Sometimes he drew things because he was being asked to draw them, not because he particularly wanted to. Because his true passion lay somewhere else. His true passion was filling the yellowed pages of this tattered and torn sketchbook. He had drawn the blonde angel over and over again in various stages and poses. He had sometimes added wings and laughed about the irony of that. How a nonbeliever like him would waste so much time drawing angels. He had drawn Enjolras from memory and he had drawn him when he had been right in front of him during meetings back in the old Café. Looking back now he found that the Enjolras from his memory never looked quite the same as the real one. The more time had passed between having seen him for the last time and having drawn him from sole memory, the more perfect and smooth his features came out. He was more perfect in his memory than he was in actual real life. Grantaire had a habit of putting Enjolras on a pedestal that no one was supposed to reach. Including Grantaire himself. Now, something as simple as watching him sleep or watching him fall sea sick were little reminders that Enjolras was still human after all. 

Grantaire felt his current drawing come to life underneath his dirty fingers. He was eager to capture every feature of Enjolras’ face the way it was now in this very moment. He did not want to lose the ability to remember him again. Remember him the way he actually was. And not the way Grantaire wanted him to be. He was not as perfect as he was in Grantaire’s old drawings. But he was _real_. And that made all the difference. It made him so much more beautiful…he was _alive_.  
Satisfied Grantaire leaned back to take a look at his drawing. It was a rough sketch, still, and Grantaire was not entirely happy with it yet. But he would take it home and add some colour to it, maybe even hang it up in his gallery one day. If he could ever afford to own one. 

Just when the sketchbook fell close, his hand still resting on the front cover for a few seconds, something changed. The way in which the ship was moving suddenly felt different. It had taken up in speed, maybe even rapidly changed direction. Which was unusual, considering that they were sailing along the Thames and not out on the open ocean. There were not really that many directions to go. And they were supposed to head back to London. In fact, Grantaire was quite sure that plenty of time had passed since they had left the harbour. They should arrive in London any minute now. 

Grantaire made sure to put his sketchbook away properly before he got up in order to investigate the case. If he went up the deck, perhaps he would be able to see it for himself. That was the plan. In reality, he did not get quite as far. A strong force set a sudden jerk through the ship that swept Grantaire straight off his feat again and he fell back into his seat. The quake was accompanied by the sound of something large breaking. The floor and walls proceeded to quiver; the light bulb hanging from the ceiling came loose and shattered into a million tiny pieces onto the ground, leaving the cabin in a state of total darkness.  
By now, Enjolras was awake too. Grantaire could see his silhouette rising to its feet. 

“What is going on?”  
Even before the last word had parted from his lips, they could both feel the room beginning to tilt slowly to the right side and they suddenly knew the answer. A wave of cold water came crashing through the door into the cabin.

“We need to get out of here!” He was yelling at Enjolras, but the sound of breaking wood and clashing waves was easily drowning out his words.  
The room around them was tilting faster and heavier now and the two men were forcefully pressed against the wall. More water was filling up the room, soaking the men’s trousers and coats. The water level was high enough to reach up to their chests and Enjolras immediately took off his coat and vest to get rid of the sudden weight. Grantaire followed his example. He also followed wordlessly as Enjolras began moving towards the doorway. The water surrounding them was freezing and Grantaire felt the cold clogging up his joints and numbing his skin. But he carried on. Just like he had done for all those years. Just like Enjolras was doing now. 

A raging stream was flooding the hall outside their cabins, carrying along broken furniture and pieces of what used to be the skeleton of the ship. Among the dominant background noises, they could now hear screams and cries from fellow passengers coming from down the hallway. Some light bulbs had survived the water invasion and were providing them with just enough light to see what was going on around them. But the water level was rising rapidly out here and Grantaire began losing connection to the ground underneath. He was not particularly trained in the subject of swimming and with the weight of the wet clothes pulling him further down into the depth of freezing cold water, Grantaire did not stand a chance. 

Neither did Enjolras, he suspected. His beautiful golden locks were drained from their colour, sticking to the man’s face. His features had hardened. And had it not been for the darkness, Grantaire would have been able to see the bluish shimmer discolouring Enjolras’ lips. There were a hundred ways to die out here. And one of them was bound to get to them sooner or later. He had to get Enjolras to safety before he would drown or freeze to death. Enjolras before anyone else. Before himself. Because it was a proven fact that neither of these things would affect him quite as much. Grantaire was going to survive. And this was precisely what he was afraid of.

Of course Enjolras turned his head towards the distant cries for help. He did not waste a second before he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and dove straight into the water. “Enjolras, no!” Grantaire was shouting, but it was already too late. A series of cuss words escaped from his lips as he followed right behind his former leader.  
Enjolras was definitely the better swimmer after all and Grantaire had troubles staying afloat as the water rose higher and higher until he could not feel the ground underneath his feet anymore. His eyes were sore from the water that had splashed into his face; he had swallowed more water than alcohol within the past hours and within the constantly rotating and quaking insides of the ship, he had lost all senses of orientation. Only every now and then he could make out the head of dirty blonde hair bopping up on the surface. The only way he could tell that they were both still alive and that he was going the right way.

But his own arms and legs were growing tired and his lounges were sore from coughing up cold water. There was no way Enjolras was feeling any different. And, indeed, only a few seconds later, the blonde man was emerging to the surface, holding on to a little shelf stuck to the wall. Upon coming closer, Grantaire could see that his body was shaking. He took sharp and painful breaths, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he was not done yet.

“We need to get out of here!” Grantaire tried again, shouting loud enough to finally be heard.  
But Enjolras shook his head hard, his lips pressed together tightly. “There are people down there. And they might still be alive”  
“You can not save all of them. The ship is sinking and it is dragging us down with it. We need to go the other way. If we can find the stairs, maybe we-“  
Enjolras cut him off sharply. “I will not leave”  
“Then you will die!”  
“So it will be” Enjolras was about to dive right back into the water again, but Grantaire grabbed his sleeve and held him back weakly. “Enjolras, please come to your senses” But somehow Grantaire knew that there was no way that he would.  
“Save yourself, if you must” Enjolras was nodding slowly and pulled himself loose from Grantaire’s grip.  
“Don’t-… _no_ -! I am _not_ the one that needs saving”  
But Enjolras would not listen to someone like him. “It is okay to leave. But understand that I will stay” 

The moment he disappeared into the pitch black water, the remains of the ship collapsed on top of them. Grantaire could feel something heavy crash into him, punching the air straight out of his lounges as he was dragged underwater. He tried to see but the darkness had swallowed him whole. He tried to swim back to the surface, but there was no surface. Large pieces of wood were floating all around him, sometimes bumping into him, but he could not get a hold of them.  
And then he saw him. Just an arm’s length away. But something was wrong. He was not moving; just aimlessly being carried by the gentle waves surrounding them. Grantaire reached out to the lifeless body but it took him five desperate attempts until he could finally grasp Enjolras’ sleeve and pull him closer. He tried to drag him along; find a way out; a way to the surface, but it was too dark to see and he was beginning to run out of oxygen.  
But he would not let go of Enjolras. He turned towards the body, grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him closer until he could wrap his arms around the taller man’s chest.

He buried his face into Enjolras’ neck. His skin felt cold underneath his touch, but so did everything surrounding him. His entire body was shaken by his sobs, but the tears were disappearing immediately into the dark ocean.  
“I am so sorry” He whispered and a bunch of bubbles were emerging from his mouth. His last resources. He was willingly giving them up. Because it did not matter anymore. And it would not matter in a few hours when he would wake up and find himself alive again. 

There was a weird pressure put on his lounges. He was breathing for air, but received a mouthful of water instead. He did not struggle as his lounges filled up with water. And he would not let go of Enjolras either.  
_We were going to travel the world together. I was going to make it right this time._  
And then, soon enough, everything went black. 

_SS Princess Alice , formerly PS Bute, was a passenger paddle steamer. She was sunk in a collision on the River Thames with the collier Bywell Castle off Tripcock Point in 1878 with the loss of over 650 lives, the greatest loss of life in any Thames shipping disaster.  
Princess Alice was struck on the starboard side; she split in two and sank within four minutes._


	6. Berlin, 1899

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire has settled in Berlin where he becomes part of the Berlin Secession, a group of artists.

He had met Courfeyrac in a small bar in Germany on a night like any other. He had been making fun of him for moping around in the corner and supposedly dragging down everyone else’s mood. Grantaire had thought that this particular damage had already been done even without his very own contribution. So he had laughed and asked the amusing stranger to sit down beside him and have a drink with him. At that time he had not yet considered the possibility of meeting the reincarnation of someone other than Enjolras. And he had not immediately recognized the other man as such. There had been similarities, subtle hints in the way they had effortlessly connected with each other straight away. And Grantaire had to admit that there had been something familiar about the stranger; the way his face lit up when he smiled; his glowing cheeks and eyes when he got excited and the kind of light hearted glee that Grantaire used to admire so much. But it was not until he had learnt more about the man’s heritage that he had figured it out. 

Courfeyrac did not actually go by his last name anymore. He had been born and raised in Germany, but some of his ancestors had supposedly been French and the name stuck. But neither of that had been their very first conversational topic of choice. By now Grantaire was fluent in French, Spanish, English and German. He had lost his accent completely in order to fit in easily wherever he chose to travel and he was usually cautious to talk about heritage unless it was absolutely necessary. The world appeared to be constantly at war and he could never be sure how one would react when encountering a foreigner. Even now with the ongoing Spanish-American war, there was an increasing tension in Europe. And this time Gantaire was making sure to stay away entirely. He had not set a foot into the Spanish territory since then and he could not afford to travel as far as America yet. 

It had been twenty years since he had lost Enjolras for the third time. Considering his record for the causes of his death, there was a good chance that Grantaire would have found him involved in the current war. He had to admit that he had thought about travelling to Spain. He had thought about it a lot. Maybe in this decade he actually would have had a chance to join the army. He had gotten a lot better in many ways. Even some of his paintings had actually sold quite well during the past years and he had been able to afford a small place in Berlin from the money he had received. There was no particular reason for why he had chosen to settle in Germany for a while. But his decision had paid off soon enough as he had joined a community of artists, calling themselves the _Berlin Secession_ roughly a year ago. His current art seemed to fit right in with them and he had been welcomed with open arms. Having a respectable community had made promoting and selling his art considerably easier. Yes, this decade was treating him well, he thought as he nodded at himself in the mirror and flashed a wary smile. 

Just then he heard the knock at the door. He had to stumble over old and new collections of art supplies and half finished paintings in order to get to the door. Maybe he did not have every aspect of this life together yet. Maybe it would take him another decade to get that far. As long as he did not fall back into old habits, of course. Having met Courfeyrac had helped a great deal with it, though, and had prevented him from drinking himself to death…literally….over and over again. His friend had taught him how to laugh and smile again. He had supported his art and encouraged him to actually join the _Berlin Secession_. Still the warm centre Grantaire had used to know so many years ago.

Speaking of the devil, he opened the door to have his fellow curly haired companion sweep in through the door before Grantaire even got a chance to actually ask him in. He closed the door behind Courfeyrac with a smile and watched his friend taking a good look around the place. It was his first time here and he was oddly excited about it.   
“So this is it, huh”   
Grantaire grinned. “Not particularly fancy, I know”  
But Courfeyrac did not seem to mind. In fact, Grantaire understood that he came from a middle class family himself and most likely grew up in a home not much bigger than this. 

“I was expecting to find you at the gallery” Courfeyrac remarked while examining an unfinished square canvas.   
Gantaire shrugged, picking up two glasses from a crowded table in the centre of the room. He briefly checked if they were clean enough while Courfeyrac was not looking and poured some herbal liqueur into both of them. He had grown quite fond of German liquor of all kinds. He had not turned his back to alcohol for good after all. 

“But you were not there” Courfeyrac continued, dropping the canvas upon being handed a glass by Grantaire. He smelled the liquid and made a face, followed by a grin. “Starting early” He chuckled, raising the glass with a nod. “They were preparing for the big exhibition. I thought, perhaps you want to help”   
“The exhibition, yes” Grantaire nodded very slowly. “I was invited too, but I dismissed the invitation”  
“Why?” Courfeyrac let himself fall down on the dirty couch. 

Grantaire clasped his fingers around the glass a little tighter avoiding Courfeyrac’s curious glance. “I could not decide on a painting suitable enough to have it exhibited in front of so many people”   
Again, Courfeyrac chuckled. “Are you nervous?” He was back up on his feet in a matter of seconds, putting a friendly arm around Grantaire. “Heavens, you _are_ nervous” He repeated, for emphasis.

Grantaire emptied his glass with one quick sip and put it back down on the table. “It is a lot of pressure, Courf’” He had refused to call his old friend by any other name than the one he had used to go by 70 years ago.  
“But have you not been painting for three days straight in order to participate? Is this not your big chance? Do you not want to throw yourself and your name out there for people to finally remember?”

Grantaire made a face and reached out for the bottle, but Courfeyrac swept it off the table before Grantaire’s fingers had even grazed it. He huffed in response and began to frantically rub his temples. “If I get to choose between throwing myself out there and throwing myself into bed, I am going to choose my bed any given day”  
“So you can make this choice, but you cannot simply decide on a painting to add to the exhibition? My friend, you are in luck for what a wonderful coincidence it is that I have come here to help you make that decision” 

With that Courfeyrac spun around on his heels and immediately started searching the room for artworks that he was considering the most beautiful, making Grantaire feel visibly uncomfortable, but he was not sure how to stop his exhilarated friend. He fell back on the sofa instead and accepted his fate.  
“How about this one?” Courfeyrac would ask and point at a painting or hold it up.  
 _Too simple, too abstract, too dark, too old_ , would Grantaire dismiss any suggestion without even looking at it.

Just when Courfeyrac believed that he was done turning the whole room upside down, he discovered one more canvas – quite a big one –, entirely covered underneath a white blanket. Before Grantaire could realize and react, Courfeyrac had already pulled off the blanket and therefore revealed the masterpiece. The picture was showing a young man, seemingly floating, probably in the deep ocean, recognizable by the bluish-green background. His clothes were torn and his eyes were closed. His cherry lips, however, parted slightly and a stream of white, fragile bubbles were emerging from it. He was drowning. Long golden curls were weightlessly floating around his head that was slightly tilted back. The art style was very detailed and realistic, easily mistaken for an actual photograph. Courfeyrac had always admired Grantaire’s talent, but this particular work of art was not like anything he had ever seen before. He could not help but stare. For a moment it looked like he was about so say something but his mouth kept closing again, like a fish gasping for water.

By now Grantaire had long risen to his feet and he was now shoving himself between Courfeyrac and the canvas, sheer panic visible in his expression. But Courfeyrac simply pushed him aside.   
“Who is this?” He finally managed to ask.  
“No one! …in particular, I mean. I painted it from scratch”  
Courfeyrac was visibly amused by Grantaire’s choice of words. “From scratch?” He repeated in disbelief. “Too bad…but I suppose that there is hardly a human being this beautiful alive and walking this Earth” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Although he does look familiar”  
Grantaire tried to laugh it off. “Courf’, my friend, it sometimes seems to me as though you know the whole world by name. It would hardly surprise me if you claimed to know someone similar to this man”   
Courfeyrac nodded slowly, but did not elaborate.

“But you do not happen to know someone with a similar face, do you?” Grantaire lifted his gaze and there was nothing but sad and broken hope reflecting from his blue eyes. But deep inside he already knew what to expect. And it was exactly what he got. Courfeyrac shook his head. “I do not” He flashed a sudden grin. “But you will be the first one to call if I ever meet someone like that” He winked at Grantaire whose gaze was now fixed to the ground.  
There was a long moment of silence between the two men. Grantaire could not stand to look at the picture – it had been so long – whereas Courfeyrac could not _stop_ staring. He was still pondering about the young man and why exactly he seemed as familiar as he did. For his face was a face that Courfeyrac would not have forgotten. Of that he was sure. 

“What do you think about this one? Will you share it with the world at the exhibition?”  
“This one?” Grantaire slowly reclaimed the blanket back from his friend in order to hide the canvas again. “I doubt it. This is hardly the kind of art they are looking for. Besides, this piece is very dear to my heart…it is, perhaps, too personal to share”  
“Are you completely mad? Do you even hear yourself speak? This piece is mesmerizing, to say the least. If anything, it is _more_ than they expect from your addition to the exhibition”   
“It is too personal” Grantaire insisted. “It was not meant to be seen by anyone. Not by you, let alone the whole world” 

“Suit yourself” Courfeyrac gave a shrug. “You are missing out on your international breakthrough here. I was hoping you would share some of your success with me, but as you are choosing the simple life over a life of fame and glory…I must get another one of your cheap drinks to wash away the remains of my shattered hopes and dreams” He sighed dramatically and threw his head back, dark curls falling down his neck – he was due for a haircut.  
Grantaire just laughed. Courfeyrac would not inquire him again about it. As soon as he had covered the piece up again, it would hopefully be forgotten about for at least the next twenty years. 

 

Without any of his artworks being a physical part of the grand exhibition, Grantaire was not prohibited entirely from going to the exhibition itself and gazing in wonder upon all the other great artists and their undeniable talent that made Grantaire feel ever so small. He appeared to be one of the youngest artists of the group, yet, he was able to look back on decades of practice. More than any of the other artists could ever boast about. He should be way ahead of them, yet, he felt that he was not any better than he was when he had first turned to the arts so many years ago. 

“I did not want to say it in front of your artist friends, but I firmly believe that you are the best one here” Courfeyrac approached him from behind. They both stood alongside each other for a moment, trying to make sense of the quite abstract piece of art that Grantaire had been looking at before. “I am assuming that I have to be an artist in order to understand this?” Courfeyrac made a face.   
Grantaire shrugged and turned away. “A better artist than me”

That had Courfeyrac laughing again. “You know…I have thought about what you had said the other day”  
Grantaire lifted an eyebrow. He tended to talk a lot when the day was long. There was no way of knowing specifically what Courfeyrac was referring to. “And you came to the conclusion that I am right about everything”   
Courfeyrac shook his head. “Quite the opposite…you see…” He grabbed Grantaire by his shoulders and made him face towards a whole crowd of people, gathered around one artwork in particular. “Those people are quite fascinated by your talent”   
Grantaire’s eyes widened in fear and surprise. “Did you _steal_ my art?”   
“Well…if you say it like _that_ it sure sounds awful. I would like to think of it as _borrowing_ ”

As the crowd shifted a little, Grantaire could see the familiar bluish-green background of his most treasured piece of art, suddenly exhibited out here for everyone to see. His hear skipped a beat and he felt like the air was being pressed out of his lounges. “We need to take it down immediately”   
“Do you not think that you are overreacting?” Courfeyrac frowned. This was clearly not the reaction he had expected. But Grantaire was already on his way and he had to reach out, capturing his friend by the sleeve in order to hold him back. “Wait, it gets better!”   
Grantaire huffed and forcefully pulled himself loose from Courfeyrac’s grip. He looked hurt. They both did. Courfeyrac did not understand and Grantaire did not know how to explain.

“There is a couple from Spain. They have taken a very special interest into your painting and have asked to speak to you privately about it” Courfeyrac pointed at the man and the women, standing slightly apart from everyone else.   
Grantaire was about to let out a stream of ungodly curses, but upon taking a look at the couple, his shoulders sank and his eyes softened. They were dressed in respectable clothes and there was no doubt about their high status in society. The women’s face was framed by a mane of long golden locks, unsuccessfully hidden by a large hat. She was wearing a long dress. Her husband had dark hair and matching dark eyes. His vest and his tie were matching the mint green colour of the woman’s dress. They were both nodding politely upon Grantaire approaching them. 

“Are you the artist?” The man asked drily, while the women pulled away her gaze immediately. She tried to look composed, but could not hide the sadness that was surrounding her like a demon. Grantaire nodded slowly.  
“We want to purchase your painting”   
“It is not for sale” Grantaire cut them off, softly.  
“Name a price and I will pay”   
“It is _not_ for sale”   
“Any price” The man looked serious about his offer, but Grantaire kept shaking his head, increasingly frustrating the man. He felt challenged and therefore obligated to win. This was when the women quietly chimed in. Her voice was gentle and broken. She was squeezing her husband’s arm softly. “He looks like our son” She cleared his throat. “You painted our son”

Grantaire felt his mouth dry up immediately. “I do think that you are mistaken, Mrs…”  
“Enjolras” She completed his sentence.  
Grantaire let out a frustrated sigh, he mouthed a curse word and fought the urge to just turn around and leave. “Enjolras, of course” He chuckled darkly and ran a hand through his curls, obviously unsure how to process the information. His hands, as well as his voice were shaky as he continued. “I did not know your son and I did not mean to paint someone that could be mistaken for him. My apologies, but you look like a respectable family that could easily hire someone to paint an actual portrait of your actual son. I, for example, would be willing to-“  
“Our son is dead. He has been dead for four years”

Again, Grantaire nearly trembled over his own words. “Of course he is” He mumbled, almost inaudible. “I give you the painting. It is yours”  
“Make a price”  
“I do not want your money, sir. The painting is yours to take as soon as the exhibition is over”  
“I cannot accept your offer-“  
“Please…” Grantaire’s lips formed a sad and gentle smile. “If it stays with me, it will do nothing but catch dust. I want you to have it for I know you will take great care of it”  
Again, the women was squeezing her husband’s arm before she burst into tears. She reached out to graze Grantaire’s arm lightly. “Thank you. You are very kind”   
“No…I have to thank _you_ ” 

As Grantaire turned around to leave a weeping women and her grateful husband behind, he could already feel Courfeyrac’s questions poking holes into his chest. But he felt oddly at ease, now that he could stop wondering and start figuring out where he was going to settle for the next twenty years.


	7. Dublin, 1916, pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two things I need to say beforhand:  
> 1\. By now, the Barricade Boys' reincarnation do not actually still have the same names as they had back in France. However, for convenience I have not made up entirely different, Irish sounding names, because that would be far too confusing. I'll just keep calling them by the names we're all used to~  
> 2\. I really really don't like this chapter. I didn't want this to get so sad and angsty again (but it somehow happened anyway?) and I PROMISE that it WILL change eventually and there WILL be fluff and happy times. Pls don't leave me hanging. There'll be a twist during the next chapters I PROMISE

The young student society of the Irish Citizen Army met every Monday and every Thursday night in Murray’s Bar. Today had been an irregular meeting on a Saturday night and it was getting late. Except for the members of the society, it had been an unusually quiet night for the bartender – a broad shouldered, gentle giant who was usually hiding a smirk underneath his dark beard. Most of the young students had cleared out by now and the bartender was already wiping off tables and stacking up chairs. It was long past curfew and all the regular guests had been sent home. Or so Bahorel – the bartender – had thought. 

Enjolras, the self proclaimed leader of the ICA’s youth department, and Combeferre, his right hand and closest acquaintance, were still here going over maps and plans concerning the rebellious march that was set to go down this Easter Sunday. 

“Lads,” Bahorel threw a kitchen towel over his shoulder and nodded briefly. “’tis getting late and you might wanna drink up and leave. I don’t want any of them British bastards knockin’ at my door tonight”  
The two young men only looked up briefly, barely even interested in the mild warning, because Bahorel was openly part of the society and showed a surprisingly soft heart when it came to these matters. But Combeferre’s glance got caught a few seconds longer by the sight of a drunk, dark haired man that appeared to be napping with his head resting on a corner table in the very back of the bar. Combeferre adjusted his glasses. “What about him?”

Bahorel barely even casted a glance over his shoulder. “Y’know, the poor fella basically lives here. Surprised you haven’t noticed yet. He’s usually the last one to leave. Never by his own accord, though”   
Now Enjolras’ attention was caught as well. He looked up, frowning, while absentmindedly closing his notes. “But he’s not part of the movement”   
Bahorel shrugged. “You tell me”  
“So he might as well be a spy” 

At that, Bahorel burst into a short, rough laughter. “Him? A spy? You ought to know better. He barely remembers his own home. Sometimes I drop him off myself after closing the place. I feel sorry y’know. We’ve all been out of our luck and mind recently”

Being watched with confused concern as well as grave silence, Enjolras eventually put his notes down entirely and slowly crossed the room towards the drunken man in the corner. Upon arrival he harshly grabbed him by the shoulders, thus jolting him back into consciousness. The man was visibly startled; a look of pure terror and panic in his eyes. Whatever he must have been dreaming, Enjolras suspected that it had not been particularly pretty. Neither was the man himself. Dark circles underneath his eyes told tales of one too many sleepless nights; shadows of a beard along his jaw lines left an impression of general filthiness, but his black hair and blue eyes had him fit right in as a local. Enjolras was staring at him intensely. The way his lips parted, the corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes lit up as he recognized the face. And Enjolras found that Bahorel had been right. He ought to know better. For he knew this man far too well and he knew what was going to happen next. 

“Get up. Pub’s closing” No sign of a question, not a careful remark. Enjolras was making a simple and clear command and Grantaire was inclined to follow once he had fully come back to his senses. In absence of a helping hand to pull him up, Grantaire took it upon himself to boldly grab Enjolras by his collar in order to support himself. By the time he was actually standing up more or less straight, Enjolras could do nothing but glower at him. Grantaire responded with a giggle and a tiny hiccup following right after. He brushed off Enjolras’ coat with his hands, but the blonde man was as stiff as ever and definitely not amused.   
“What about the last call?” Grantaire suddenly cried out while staggering towards Bahorel and Combeferre. 

Combeferre lifted both eyebrows while pushing his glasses back onto his nose. “Last call’s been two hours ago”   
“Oh…” Grantaire stopped to wipe his mouth with his sleeve. “…right”   
Bahorel shook his head, laughing quietly. “Come here, buddy, I’ll take you home” He loosely placed an arm around the drunken man’s shoulder. Right then, Enjolras stepped in. “Wait” He pronounced and nobody was more confused about this as Enjolras himself. “I’ll do it” He eventually explained after a long pause.

Bahorel drew his arm back slowly while exchanging glances with Combeferre who was visibly sceptical about the whole idea, but was also simultaneously making the decision to be quiet about it. There were far worse and more serious things to be bitter about than the unlikely possibility of Enjolras losing his mind. In fact, most of the times Combeferre trusted him and his decisions. He knew perfectly well when his friend took things too far and when there was a need to step in. This was not one of those times. So he led it slide and eventually gave a reassuring nod. Even though Enjolras was not looking at him.  
Grantaire, however, could not get a grasp of what was going on until they had both left the bar and he could feel the cold and wet embrace of the Irish spring weather biting at his unprotected, coatless body. 

He was remembering now.   
No longer than 84 years ago, Enjolras had died for the first time and he had proceeded to die in the years to come whether Grantaire had been near him or not. However, he had not actually met Enjolras for about two decades. Until he had remembered that one of his reincarnations had at some point been talking about the upcoming struggles in Ireland and this had eventually led Grantaire to come and settle here. It had only taken him a few weeks until he had stumbled upon the exact pub that had also been chosen by the young revolutionaries as the place to discuss their plans. As much as it had hurt Grantaire to see history repeating itself to this disturbing degree, it had progressively gotten worse once he had spent a few evenings watching the young men. Because this time, it was not just Enjolras. This time, everyone was here. Everyone, except for Courfeyrac, who was still living a hopefully very different life in Germany. It had pained Grantaire to leave him, but there had been no way of explaining his own agelessness while all these years had long taken their toll on Courfeyrac.

Then Enjolras interrupted his string of thoughts. “Sometimes I wonder about you” The air was cold enough to turn Enjolras’ speech and breath into hazy white mist. In awe, Grantaire watched it slowly fade away. Thus, also avoiding direct eye contact.   
“You just walked in here one night and quietly settled down as if you were born underneath the counter. You are always the first one to come and the last one to leave. I have seen you engaging into conversations with my fellow soldiers, but you always keep quiet when serious discussions arise. As soon as I start speaking, you raise your hand and order a bottle of whiskey and by the time I am done talking, the bottle is empty and you have fallen fast asleep. Sometimes you look like you want to say something but you hesitate and seal your lips. The problems of our people do not seem to matter to you, yet, you choose to come back here every night when you could find a hundred other hellholes just like it in a town like this” 

Grantaire lowered his gaze, his rosy cheeks suddenly appearing rather flustered than plain drunk. He had not expected Enjolras to have noticed him, let alone watch him. This sudden information was now too much for his dizzy mind to comprehend. 

“They serve a fine whiskey” It turned out that nothing would ever cause Grantaire to lose his wits. A trait that Enjolras had yet to come to know about him. In fact, this might have been the first time he had actually heard Grantaire speak up and he was oddly surprised by how soft and quiet the words had come out, blending in perfectly together with the poorly lit, almost surreal atmosphere. His words were accompanied by a faint smile, but not by nearly as much spite as they ought to be. He was not trying to irritate or annoy, but rather making up desperate excuses, thus, blatantly avoiding giving a real answer. 

“Ah, that must be why you exclusively buy the cheapest one on the menu” Grantaire snickered, much to Enjolras’ surprise because he failed to see humorous aspect of his very own words.   
“I do not recall you being this quick-witted”  
Enjolras frowned. “You’re talking nonsense”  
“That happens” Grantaire shrugged it off, but the easy gesture was fake and it was showing. “What do you expect me to do then? Leave?” He raised an eyebrow in a gesture of pure provocation.

Enjolras sighed. “I am asking you to focus” Not even a second after he had finished those last words, he was suddenly held back by Grantaire who was grabbing him by the shoulders, slamming him against a nearby wall. Enjolras gasped in shock, as well as mild pain while Grantaire’s eyes were resting on him with frightening intensity. “I can focus if this is what it takes” He leaned forward, faces close enough to touch, lingering there dangerously, his voice desperate, almost pleading. 

Despite being utterly disgusted by the sudden closeness he had never permitted, Enjolras was frozen in his joints and found himself unable to physically react. His mind, however, was at work. An overwhelming sense of familiarity and déjà-vu had overcome him the second the other man had touched him. A flashback of memories he could not remember. Too fast, too blurry for his mind to process them at all. The hint of feeling that was here to stay and make him wonder. 

It was not until Grantaire himself had realized what he had done and weakened his touch and softened his stare that Enjolras was able to regain strength and posture, ruthlessly pushing the older man towards the open and empty street. Grantaire, knowing that he well deserved that kind of treatment, was struggling immensely, almost falling to his knees right here in front of the blonde man’s feet. It would not have been the first time. 

“I am sorry” He cried out, wiping his mouth and eyes with his rugged sleeves. But Enjolras would not hear any of it. “I did not mean any harm. On the contrary, I-“   
The blonde man had long turned away. “If I recall correctly, this is your home. Go to bed. Rest” His voice sounded like honey sinking into a cold blanket of snow. “You may need it for tomorrow”  
 _Tomorrow…_  
Grantaire clenched his fists.   
_The protest. Was it tomorrow already? It was too early. He was supposed to have more time._

Grantaire felt himself panicking. Convinced that he already knew the ending to the story, he reached out to Enjolras who still did not bother to look at him. Decades ago Grantaire would have gotten onto his knees right here on the spot and begged him to stay home tomorrow. But the mere thought of that seemed ridiculous now. Enjolras would never willingly throw away an opportunity to fight and neither would Grantaire miss his chance to join him. Instead, he took a deep, shaky breath.  
“It is true. Not once did I visit Murray’s bar because I was particularly interested in your political opinions. But know that I will be there tomorrow. I will not disappoint you” 

There was still no obvious reaction from Enjolras, but as Grantaire was disappearing behind the door of his flat, the blonde man, too, exhaled deeply and asked himself why he had insisted on walking the drunken man home in the first place. There was only one thing he was sure of: If he were to die tomorrow, at least he would do so knowing what Grantaire’s voice sounded like.


End file.
